The Whole Night Through
by Rush Limborg
Summary: Begins six months after "I Do, Adieu", and ends some weeks before "Home Is The Sailor". Diane struggles to come to terms with the fact that she won't be returning to Boston, and to Sam. Still, their bond can never be broken, and they both will re-learn this, in a way neither of them could ever imagine. Now complete, at last! Please review, and enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Note: This story's been in the works since I'd finished "Always Glad You Came." Basically, I wrote it out of the desire to give Sam and Diane—particularly Diane—the "closure" they didn't ****_quite_**** have in the final scene of "I Do, Adieu". There, recall, Diane refuses to accept that it's goodbye. But I really felt I owed it to her, to give her and Sam the chance to truly come to terms with that fact. (Of course, we all know she comes back for the series finale, but still….)**

**Anyway, this first chapter practically ****_sprung_**** out of me, as I simply refused to accept that Diane never called Sam…or that Sam was never there to answer. I personally don't consider it AU—I don't really recall anything in the ****_Cheers_**** canon to discount it.**

**The title comes from the Three Degrees song, "When Will I See You Again?"**

**This tale's set, of course, between "I Do, Adieu" and "Home Is The Sailor". Enjoy!**

* * *

It was the last of many calls she'd make to him, before her six months were up.

Diane Chambers sat in the bed in Sumner Sloan's cabin in Maine. Thank heaven, he'd kept his promise—and never "stopped by to see how you were faring". She suspected, somehow, that if he _had_—she'd have stopped, right then, right there…packed, and flown straight back to Boston—back into _Cheers_…back into the arms of the man she loved more than any other in this world.

But Sumner Sloan had never "stopped by". And so, Diane would call the man she loved. As the months would go on, it would be less and less frequent…but she would call, nevertheless. And now, her six months were all but up. And so she called.

"Diane?"

She felt a smile. "Why Sam…how could you know?"

The voice of Sam Malone sounded both amused and exhausted. "Do you have any idea how late it is?"

No…no, the truth was—she didn't. She frowned, without responding, as she turned to glance at the alarm clock on the table near the bed. It was three-thirty—in the morning.

"Right," she said, now smiling at herself.

"Uh-huh—_that's_ how." If his voice was any indication…that smile was mutual.

Diane chuckled, suddenly feeling an embarrassed flush of her alabaster cheeks. "Did I wake you?"

"No, you know how late I stay up, when I'm not with a chick." A pause, then: "Sometimes when I _am_, come to think of it."

Diane felt a flinch at this. She found herself wanting to ask whether he'd…_seen_ anyone since she's left. But she didn't ask. Her heart would not allow her to ask.

His voice brought her out of it. "Work late, again?"

She shrugged. "As usual, I suppose."

"How's it coming along?"

She couldn't lie to him—after all these years, he'd long learned how to spot such things in her voice, as she could, his. "Well, um…the truth is, Sam, I've ran into a—a bit of a hindrance."

"A setback, huh? You said you were almost done, last call."

"It—it's not that, Sam. I-I _am_ done—my novel's finished, and—"

She found herself cutting off, unable to bring herself to come out and say it all. After all her preparation for this, for what she would say and how she would say it…when the moment came—

A pause on the other end. Diane swallowed, imagining Sam Malone finding something right there on which to sit down…somehow managing to suppress the feelings struggling to burst out—the joy that his love, at last, was coming home—as far as he knew, from what she'd just said…

_Oh no, Sam, I didn't mean that! Oh, my love…I'm so sorry for putting you through this moment—_

"That's…that's great!" he said with what sounded so clearly like a nervous smile, "I can't—well, Diane, that's wonderful! You—you did it—"

"Sam, _don't_," Diane's eyes started to well up, "Please don't. I-I can't allow it…"

"Well, what—" Silence. She could see him in her mind's eye, mulling over what she'd just said…his face turning grave, and almost afraid. "Diane…they didn't—did they reject it, or something?"

"Well, um…" Diane swallowed, and blurted out, "I suppose one might say, 'It's complicated'."

Complicated, indeed. They _had_ rejected it, after all this time spent based on that promise of theirs over the phone in _Cheers_, almost six months ago. Rejected, with no reasons given, nor any explanation.

_And of _course_ they did, Sumner—what did you tell them, to make them "accept" it in the first place, I wonder? Well, where were your oh-so-wonderful powers of persuasion _here_?_

But then her agent, God bless him, had managed to convince someone in Hollywood—_Hollywood_!—to accept it, and on the condition that she'd adapt it into, of all things, a screenplay. It wasn't the sort of thing she was expecting—she'd never thought herself to be a _screenwriter_, by any means! Needless to say, this sort of thing wasn't exactly what Sam would call a "no-brainer".

_Especially—oh, Sam…_

To his credit, Sam didn't press her for details. But what he did say, as far as Diane was concerned, was far more painful a tug at the deepest corner of her heart:

"Oh."

It was calm, composed…but soft, almost—tired again, as though…as though the energy he'd felt, from the elation of thinking she'd been published, had suddenly been drained from within him. As though…

"But—Sam!" Diane quickly jumped in, "That—that doesn't change a thing. Not at all! I-I gave you my _word_, Sam, and I intend to—"

"Diane." Still calm. Still composed. Still tired.

Diane felt one of the tears escape. "_Sam_—I-I promised you—"

"I know, I was there. Diane, why did I tell you to go, anyway?"

She felt her voice rise. "Well, _I_ don't know—why _did_ you?"

A pause—and Diane knew, without any way to confirm, that he was giving her time to compose herself, before this would simmer up into yet another Classic Clash of Sam and Diane.

Finally, Sam replied, "Diane…I told you, I couldn't live with it—knowing that you never had the chance to…_fulfill_ any of those great dreams you've got. Look, uh—I know this'll sound kinda silly, but I'd rather…aw, whatever, I'll say it: I'd rather be _alone_, and know you were out there, following your dreams, than…than just having you to myself, without anything to show for what you _could've_ had." And after a pause, he muttered "Oh, that was sappy, wasn't it?"

Diane shook her head, smiling through the streams coming down from her eyes. "No Sam—it wasn't. It wasn't 'sappy', or 'silly'—it was…oh, Sam, it was one of the most romantic things I've ever heard you say!"

"Yeah, thanks. Whew!—that was a relief! Wait…" he sighed, "Yeah, that's how you'd think about it. Don't know _what_ I was so worried about."

Diane chuckled silently, closing her eyes to will the rest of the tears away. "Well, you should know," she said, as she opened her eyes, "that regardless of all _that_—"

"Honey, listen. I said I couldn't live with it, and I mean it. I mean—geez, Diane! You deserve a _heck_ of a lot more than to just spend your life in a bar and that crummy little house—"

"It's not _crummy_, Sam," Diane began to pout—but then froze, as the exact nature of his words suddenly registered.

"Sam," she swallowed, "Don't…you mean '_this_ crummy little house'?"

Another silence—and this time, it felt tense—almost afraid.

_No, Sam—_no_!_ But, alas…his giving her his "new" number, the last time she'd called, suddenly made sense…sad, terrible sense.

Finally, Sam replied, "Uh, yeah—_this_ house, that's what I meant—"

"Sam—" Diane shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing, "Y-you…_didn't_—"

"Okay, all right, look—honey…I still _own_ the darned thing, I've just moved back into my old apartment, just in case—well, you know—"

"Sam, don't!" Her eyes welled up again, "I…I told you I would be _back_ in—"

"Honey, listen to me: if you've got a chance, take it. I know what you promised me—I was _there_, remember?"

Despite herself, Diane chuckled again, nervously. "Yes, Sam, I remember."

"Look, I guess what I'm trying to say is…_whatever_ you said to me, Diane—you don't owe me a thing. Okay—you hear me? Not a _thing._"

"Sam, that's not true! I _promised_ you—!" Her voice cut off…and the tears flowed down, despite all she could do to fight them. "Oh, God in heaven…" she managed to say—but that was all, as she let out a sob.

"Hey…hey, listen…" Sam's voice was so comforting—so…so endearing, "Hey, sweetheart—don't. You're just making it harder…not impossible." Diane heard him force a chuckle. "Yeah, listen to me—I just said something dramatic and meaningful. How about that, huh?"

The quip didn't help her recover. It just made it worse—_Confound it, Sam, why do you have to be so _charming_—in a time like this, when everything falls apart like it just has…?_

"Hey," he said, "Diane, do it for me, then…okay? I _want_ you to do something great with your life—like you've always wanted."

She managed to gather herself with a closed-eyed sniffle, to say, "What I _want_, Sam, is to be with you. With _you_! I—I don't care if I _never_—"

"Don't say it, sweetheart. I don't want you to say it."

Diane swallowed. "Please, Sam…" she whispered.

She heard him sigh, and he said, "Diane…I'm _not_ holding you to the 'six months' thing. I never held you to that—so don't _you_ do it. If you have to stay there longer, work things out…I don't care—and I don't care if something new opens up to _keep_ you away—okay? Just…just follow that dream, Diane. You've earned it…hear me? You _deserve_ it."

Diane closed her eyes again, fighting the emotions clamoring to burst out from within

_It's not fair—it's not _fair_! Why—why couldn't I finish the darned book in Boston? _Why_? Oh, curse you, Sumner Sloan—curse you to the deepest circle of whatever underworld exists, for forcing that choice on me—on _Sam_. He…he honestly believed my staying with him would _smother_ me—and he still does! How could you come, when you did—just when he and I were going to be so _happy_? I swear, Sumner Sloan, you thank whatever pagan god you serve that you'll never visit me here, because the moment I'd see you, I swear I'd—_

But there was nothing to change all that. That choice had already been made. And as far as Sam was concerned, so was this one—and Diane knew she could not convince him otherwise…and that were she to come back to Boston, not having succeeded in her dreams…he would never forgive himself—and certainly not her.

Diane opened her eyes. "All right, Sam," she said, her voice low and oddly calm to her ears. "But—I-I think you should know, this lady is not going to let you off that easily. I _will_ come back to you—maybe not soon, but _someday_, when we're still…_young_ and fresh with the world ahead of us. And we'll marry, and take that honeymoon in Disney as you wanted, and have that first little Malone come along, and—and _that's_ a promise to hold me to…okay?"

And there was silence for a time, until Sam said in a careful tone, "Diane…look, I'm never gonna be as smart as you are, but one thing I've learned—and God knows I've still _got _to learn—is never make that kind of promise. You never know—"

"Don't _say_ that, Sam—not again! How _can_ you—?"

"I'm _just_ saying…if you ever find someone—don't push him away. Okay?—not for _me_. I'm not worth it."

Diane froze. "Not—not _worth_ it? How—Sam, how can you _say_ that?"

More silence—but when he spoke at last, Diane was certain she heard tears in the voice of Sam Malone. "Because I _won't_ be pushing the next someone away."

The blood ran cold in the veins of Diane Chambers. So, this _was_ goodbye—just as it was, that last night, the night that _should_ have been their wedding night.

And so, when she clutched the phone, pressing it against her ear and her mouth, she said in a near whisper. "Well…that's it then."

A pause, and Diane could picture him swallowing, forcing back his own feelings at this declaration. "Sure sounds that way," he said.

"But—Sam…if—if I _do_ come back, someday…"

She could hear his smile. "Well, you'll know where to find me."

She nodded. "I will…." And she paused, and unable to help herself, she whispered, "_Bon soir_, _mon coeur_."

A pause from him—and he quietly replied, "Have a good life, Diane."

The words stung, as they had six months before…but this time, she didn't fight them. Diane swallowed, and nodded. "I will, Sam…"

And she heard the click—and the dial tone. She hung the receiver back where it belonged. And she looked around her—at the polished wood of the cabin, at the table beside her, with the lamp and the clock and the picture of the two of them together…. And she looked at the desk across the room where sat the typewriter—and beside it, the manuscript of the novel that was soon to begin its long, arduous transformation to a screenplay—and, God willing, a film.

She stared across the room at her future—the cruelly indifferent, cake-eating-but-not-having future that once again tore her heart in two.

"…I hope," Diane Chambers finished with a whisper…a short while before she turned off the light, laying her head on the pillow, staring at the picture by the clock and the lamp…the picture of the two of them, together.

For a while, she couldn't sleep…her memory filled with that last night—the last time she'd seen the strong, handsome face of that dashing rogue knight she'd been so proud to call her husband-to-be.

_"_Sam_—I'm going away for _six months_. That's all! So no more of this 'have a good life' _stuff_—"_

_"You never know; you—you could die, _I_ could die—the _world_ could end…one of us could—bump our heads, and…wander the streets for the rest of our life with amnesia…or maybe—one of us will decide they want something else_…._"_

_"None of those things will happen_…._ I'll be _back_ here. I _will_! I'll see you in six months…okay?"_

_"Okay_…._"_

_"Okay…that's better_…._"_

And in the darkness, Diane Chambers pressed her eyes to the pillow, clutching a chunk of its cushion in her wrist and twisting it in anguish...as she at last let out all the feelings of searing pain she'd bottled up, from the moment she's walked up the steps from _Cheers_, that last, lonely night. And she cried herself to sleep, alone the whole night through.

* * *

**Note: No, folks...this isn't the end! There's more to come; as I said, it's just the first chapter. In the meantime...please let me know your thoughts!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Five months later…_

* * *

_Sheesh, what a night for a hurricane!_ Sam Malone mused, as he grasped the helm of his ship. Well, it wasn't a hurricane—but it wasn't pleasant, as far as this lonely sailor was concerned.

The salt of the ocean winds and the hard pour of the ocean rain stung his face to the point where he had to fight to keep his eyes open, as the ripples of the waves rolled and crashed against the hull of his ship.

The Bermuda Triangle. That's what they called this—the legends of the part of the sea between Bermuda, Puerto Rico, and the Florida coast. He'd been sailing through the southern portion—the part that lay in the islands of the Caribbean. He wasn't much of a superstitious guy—his old bottle cap notwithstanding. And he didn't have much of a desire to "disappear", anyway. Well…not unintentionally.

And that was why he was officially branding this a _really_ bad day.

The thunder and the lightning crackled and roared…and the darkness of the night offered no solace whatsoever, no mercy, no redemption, as he strove with all that he was to hold on…hold on….

* * *

Something was wrong. Something…and for the life of her, Diane Chambers could not tell what it was. All she knew was, something was suddenly tugging at her from within—something akin to the feeling one gets when they've forgotten something—something _important_. Something _akin_ to that…but it wasn't. It was _darker_ somehow—not guilt, so much as a solemn kind of worry, an immense concern that something, somewhere, was desperately wrong.

She stared at the page in the typewriter, as she sat at the desk in the cabin in silence. It was the ending of the climax for the screenplay of _Jocasta's Conundrum_.

Well…perhaps that was it, then? She'd gone through a great deal of soul-searching, certainly—every cut and every "streamline" of her novel's plot, so as to fulfill her agent's advice. Of course she would feel a great deal of loss, at that. And yet—yes, looking back, even she had to admit that he'd had a point. Less _was_, in this case, more. The plot was now all the more compelling—and she cheerfully admitted to having felt a deep surge of emotional catharsis as she carried the heroine all the way through this final grand measure…along with an inner drive and motivation to not rest until the sequence was through—and with it, the excitement of the simmering drama bursting through and overflowing. The denouement was now all that remained—the conclusion, the aftermath.

Was that it, then? The "all good things" that must come to an end?

No…no, that couldn't be it. She didn't feel anything even _remotely_ as "dark" as this, when she had reached the close of the _novel_. So what on Earth was this? What _was_ this sudden feeling of tense melancholy that had no explanation, no cause whatsoever?

She turned to the clock on the desk. It was night…it was late. It was always late when she braked for the night.

She leaned back in her seat, letting out a sigh. Maybe it _was_ the stress of a massive unloading of creativity. Catharsis can do that, if it's deep enough—all but drain you of emotion, so that you feel exhausted inside, in so many ways. Diane wouldn't really describe her current status in _those_ words, but…at any rate, she knew it was doubtful she could go on, tonight.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in through her nose, her mouth closed…and let it out, slowly. At the very least, meditating would surely help—

She froze, and her eyes opened. She had no answer for this—no explanation at all, for why this new image had without warning filled her mind…the image of a stormy sea….

* * *

The winds became a gale—and it was all Sam Malone could do to _clutch_ onto the helm. It transformed the rain—it wasn't just a sting anymore, it was a shower of pellets—they felt like _bullets_—coming at him from the side, almost. It was a miracle he could still see. It was a miracle he could still stand. It was a miracle he was still on the boat, and not in the water screaming and thrashing for dear life.

The waves rolled and crashed—and rose, and _crashed_. The ship groaned in protest and defiance against the storm, all for nothing. If he ever got out of this, Sam Malone swore up and down, he would _never _test legends of "don't-go-in-there", ever again.

The rising waves began to soar upward, and Sam began to pray—to appeal to heaven, to spare him. _Please…please, God—I…I don't know what I'll do, just get me out of this—_!

The waves plummeted down—thank heaven, not on the boat. His ship was still intact…that still counted for something. And as he surveyed the storm around him, and suffered the wrath of nature, Sam Malone thanked his good fortune that at least it hadn't gotten any worse—

Of _course_ that was the moment when the ship struck a reef—_collided_ with a reef. And the crash shook him with a force that broke him away from the helm…and when the ship tilted to starboard, Sam struggled and writhed and reached, but could find nothing to grab.

And as the waves forced the boat further forward, it tilted and tilted until the railing hovered over the water—and Sam found himself lying against, and then rolling over and off—and then _clutching_ the rail, the ocean forcing against his body, his straining grip the only thing keeping him from falling victim to the sea.

_Great…I'm gonna _die_, and what happens? All these words and _poetry_ in my brain—I'm sounding like Di—_

And his heart skipped a beat, at the sound of her name in his mind…and no matter how he tried to suppress it, her face followed. But there was no despair, when he saw her in his mind's eye—there was something calm…something peaceful. "Any port in a storm" was the saying—and now…here, with _her_ was his safe harbor—

_No—you're going nuts, here! You're hanging on for dear life—you're THIS close to dying, already, and the last thing you should be thinking about is—_

"_Diane!_" the name escaped his mouth, crying out against the storm.

_Great—you said her name. What do you know? She'd sure like _this_, huh? You, braving a storm like a hero outta Hemingway, or something—and dying with her name on your mouth—_

His thoughts broke off, when an intense strain filled his arms…and the awareness filled his soul that he wouldn't be able to hold on any longer.

"_Diane!_" he cried out again, and he didn't know why. Did it help him, somehow—give him some kind of comfort in the face of death?

And with this last question burned into his mind, his grip finally gave way—and he tumbled into the waves—

"_DIANE—_"

* * *

"_SAM_!"

The shattering of the mug on the floor brought her back to reality, and Diane Chambers found herself catching her breath, standing there in the kitchen. She'd been getting herself a mug of milk—warm milk (she had warmly smiled at the memory), like her father had gotten for her, whenever she'd been unable to sleep—and now, she had been taking it to bed…

But the sudden surge of terror had filled her—the sudden feeling, filling every corner of her heart and her soul…that burst out in an instant, with the scream of Sam's name. She couldn't explain it—it was like…

It was as though, for one terrible moment, she _knew_, with every fiber of her being, that Sam's life was in mortal danger! But…but why on Earth she would think that—

_No…no, he told me, once…that when he'd flown over to Europe, to stop my wedding to…poor Frasier—he'd felt a deep shudder, and a feeling along with it that he wouldn't be able to make it in time. And he wasn't…technically_.

Was that it? _Was_ Sam in danger?

She darted over to the phone by the bed, and dialed Sam's apartment. She waited…nothing. Their house…disconnected. _Cheers_…nothing.

Diane slowly hung up, and closed her eyes, wringing her hands….

She hadn't heard from him again, since that last call…when he'd told her to stay away, until she was successful. She _had_ called the bar, once more, about a month later—and Woody had answered:

_"Cheers!"_

_"Hello, Woody. It…it's me."_

_"Oh—oh, hi, Miss Chambers! How are ya?"_

_"I-I'm fine, Woody. Is Sam there?"_

_"No…no, he's been gone for a few weeks, you know. He—"_

_For some reason, he'd cut himself off…and for what felt to Diane like the first time since she'd met him, she heard Woody Boyd choose his next words carefully. "He's…kinda off on a vacation, or something."_

_Diane had swallowed hard, and said, "Well…tell everyone—I'm…well, I won't be coming back for a while. I—I'm going to move to Hollywood."_

_"What—wow, Miss Chambers, that's great! You gonna be a movie star, or what?"_

_Despite herself, Diane had felt a chuckle. That Woody—sweet, adorable Woody—there was always something about him to put a smile on her face. "No, Woody…I'm going to be _writing_. Television, films—I suppose it'll depend on who'll have me. But…but the point is, I…"_

_Diane had blinked back her tears, and said, "I—I won't be coming back to Boston—not for a while. I…I'm sorry. Tell everyone, I'm—sorry_…._"_

_"Aw, that's okay, Miss Chambers. We're sure gonna miss you, though."_

_The tears had come down at that, as she nodded, clutching the phone to her, "I…I'm going to miss you, too, Woody—all of you." She'd swallowed, and added, "And—tell Sam, I love him…and I always will."_

_Woody paused…and finally said, softly, "Sure, Miss Chambers."_

_"Well…goodbye, Woody."_

_"Goodbye, Miss Chambers."_

That was that. And now…she couldn't help but wonder over what he hadn't told her—what Sam was doing, away. Was…was it possible—?

_No…no, Woody wouldn't have covered up something like _that_ from me—and beyond that, why didn't I feel this way until _now_?_

But that was then. Now…no one was there, to call. And she couldn't in good conscience wake any of them up—not this late. It was only her…and her feelings—her fears.

At last, she opened her eyes—and felt a sudden tug at her cheek. Her hand shot up instinctively to cover it. Fortunately, the tic didn't last for that long.

She sighed, and looked around for something—anything—to calm her down. That was when she remembered the shattered mug and the spilled milk, and she rushed back into the kitchen, grabbing a brush and dustpan, with paper towels.

She was kneeling down, dabbing up the milk, when the tears began to fall.

_Oh, the others would _love_ this—"crying over spilled milk". Sam would—_

The name made her sobbing grow ever louder as she dropped the towels, the tears flowing free.

_Oh, Sam, _please_!—don't be…don't be—oh, dear God, what have I done? Why did I stay here? Why did I listen to him—why didn't I keep my promise? If I was there—with him now, maybe…_

But that was all over. What now?

And there, as she had before in a convent near Boston…alone in a kitchen, sitting up in the middle of the floor under the pretense of cleaning up…she managed to gather herself, and she sighed, looking upward.

"It's…it's me again," she whispered through her tears, "I—I don't know if…if what I'm feeling right now is—well, if I have much of a legitimate reason for this. But…I cannot help but find myself unable to shake this—this _feeling_, this…despair in my heart. I-I don't know what's happening—if he's as…_endangered_ as I fear. So, I'll just ask…" she shook her head, and sighed, her gaze lowered. She swallowed, and looked back up. "Just—whatever happens to him, _please_…watch over him. Protect him…. Keep him safe."

She nodded, and felt a smile, somehow reassured. "Amen," she whispered…and went back to her cleaning.

* * *

**Note: Diane's recollecting of her telling Woody over the phone (after Sam had begun his voyage) that she's going to Hollywood is actually my way of explaining how Woody knew where she was, as of "Home Is The Sailor".**


	3. Chapter 3

Sam's eyes flickered open. It was the ache that had woken him up—in his head, in his arms, in his legs, his back…

Well, what he could tell, nothing was broken. That counted for _something_, at least.

He sat up, and looked around him. It was still night—and he could only see because of that burning, capsized ship of his. It was a short distance away—all ripped up and torn apart, all but _sunk_.

Aside from the reef, there was a series of other large rocks, reefs, and tiny islands. An "atoll", right—that's where he was.

_"Bad luck", sure—"Bermuda Triangle" and its stupid curse. For all I know, I'm spending the rest of my short, stupid life, here._

He felt a smile, despite himself. _"No Brains Atoll"…how's that for a name? If I get out of this, at least I'm proving to the world I've got a sense of humor about it all._

At any rate…well, Sam guessed he might as well _call_ whatever the heck he was in, "luck". He was on one of the islands, with sand and all—complete with a palm tree or two. The kind of island that pirates would maroon people on. At least the storm died down quite a bit. And he wasn't dead, or really injured. He still ached a heck of a lot, though.

_And no ship, nowhere to go—yeah…real lucky, huh?_

He managed to stand up, and headed over to one of the trees. _ Well, a couple coconuts on the ground! At least I won't _starve_ to death._

Not for a day or two, anyway. He sat back down, picked up a rock, and started working on one of the nuts.

Wait…no, come to think of it, he wasn't too hungry. What he felt was exhausted. Fighting the storm—and the water—sure took a _heck_ of a lot out of him. He sighed, and lay down, resting his head on his hands.

_Yeah…look at me, just taking a rest. My ship's blowing up _and_ sinking—I'm all alone, with no one around for _miles_, at least…nothing but a couple of coconuts and _maybe_ some fish swimming around—no promise of that—and I'm just taking a rest, sleeping under the stars._

_Lucky me. Not like I've got anything left to live for, huh?_

Well…what _did_ he have left, anyway? Sheesh, he'd sold the _bar_ to get that stupid boat, for goodness sake. Now, he had no boat, precious little in that bank account of his…and nothing else to show for his trouble but _a couple of coconuts_!

Even if he _did_ get out of this, where would he go? Back to the bar? Sure, sure—back to the bar he'd _sold_. What a story—running home with his tail between his legs, working at the place he'd used to own—and would've _still_ owned, if he hadn't sold it in the _first_ place _to BUY THE STUPID BOAT_!

Besides…too many memories. Too many things about that place…too many reminders of—of—

He felt a flinch, and his heart skipped a beat. Some of the salt in the air must've gotten in his eyes, because they were suddenly getting watery—

_Oh, shut up, you idiot. They're tears, and you know it. Come on—tears, you've heard of them, right? You've done it before, back when her cat—_

He sighed. It _was_ her, wasn't it? The memory of _her_…and the sight of those initials he'd carved into the bar: _SM + DC_.

A few years ago, looking at those initials had been the straw on his camel-back…what had driven him back to the bottle, after years of staying sober. Well, no way on Earth was _that_ going to happen to him. So, after that last phone call—that time when he'd told her to stay away, and do whatever she had to do to _win_ in her life…it was either drink up and drink hearty, or get the heck away from that bar…away from her name.

He closed his eyes, and took in the smell of the sea. _That old book—_Robinson Crusoe_, right? I'll bet _she_ read it, but I probably couldn't say much about who "Friday" was supposed to be—just some island guy, who'd somehow been there, too. Was he marooned, like the other guy? I don't know. I'll bet she does. Not that I can ask her._

He felt himself relax, smiling despite himself. _You know, hon…I'm not gonna be stupid and wish you were here, with me—I certainly wouldn't want you stranded here, with no books, no music, no art, no nothing but me and some _fish_ to keep you company. I don't suppose you'd make some sketches on the coconuts…maybe write some "po-_ems_" in the sand, or something._

_Yeah…you'd go crazy, after a few days. And I'd go crazy watching you go crazy._

_Still…you know something, Diane? I'm sure, take away the boat's bad shape—what the heck, we fill up its cabin with your books and whatever—and this is actually a pretty nice place. A honeymoon—you know? Forget Disney—you didn't want that, anyway. All I know is, a _heck_ of a lot better than where _you_ wanted to go._

He sighed, his eyes still closed. _All things considered…yeah, I just wish—_

"Sam?"

_Oh, my—_

* * *

Diane took the new mug to the bed, sitting down, drinking…her mind focusing on a fond memory—for comfort, she supposed. And at any rate, it worked a little…the memory of sitting in bed as a little girl, having called out to her father, and when he'd entered the room, confessed to him that she couldn't sleep. And without a moment's hesitation, Spenser Chambers—Wall Street tycoon, financial king and power-broker, who could make giants tremble in fear with a single pointed stare—had given her a warm smile and a brush of his hand on her forehead, and then went and gotten just such a mug of milk for her—warm and soothing…and after she'd drank, he'd given her a light kiss on the cheek, adding a tender and quiet "Good night, Muffin" as sleep claimed little Diane.

_Daddy, I can't tell you…just, how many times I wish you were alive—and here, to guide me in so many things. Somehow, I doubt you'd have let me go _out_ with Sumner Sloan—much less continue _working_ for him any longer than a few weeks—if _that….

_And now…now, I'm sitting here, having made a decision almost a year ago that I know my heart will regret for so long…assuming it'll ever _stop_ regretting…assuming I-I'll ever see Sam again—_

She shook her head, setting the emptied mug aside as she crawled into bed. _No…no, he's all right. He _has_ to be! Oh, what's the use—nothing can shake this feeling of mine, that…that something terrible has happened to the man I love!_

_Yes…I said it, Daddy—I love him. And somehow, I know that _nothing_ will ever change that—not time, not distance, not other men trying to woo my heart—or other women, trying to entice his own._

She felt a smile, despite everything. _You know, many times I've wondered what you would've thought of him? You were so often so critical of the men I brought home—but then, none of them were anything like Samuel "Mayday" Malone: bartender and baseball veteran; an "alpha male" certainly, if I may use that frankly _outlandish_ term; a sly fox of a charmer—an all-but-relentless Casanova who delights in women and _pleasure_ with them_….

_You know, Daddy, something tells me you and he would've quickly become good friends—if I _weren't_ dating him. Not that you would ever _let_ me—you wouldn't trust a heartbreaking lothario with the hand of little Muffin…would you?_

_Well…I suppose you're not here, Daddy—and I've long accepted that, I suppose. But…oh, Sam…_

She rested her head on the pillows, and closed her eyes.

* * *

**Note: Sam's remembering of the initials was actually inspired by the last of dontbesojaded's "Little Known Facts". Actually, samurai frasier crane has a tale focusing on it, too-though I admit to mentally screaming at Sam "NO, Sam-DON'T!" with that one. Yes...well-written stories *can* move me, like that. *sigh***


	4. Chapter 4

Diane Chambers was in a loose yellow-and-white knee-length summer dress that was only held closed at the front with a linen belt of the same color, a dress that probably would've been see-through had it been any thinner. She didn't know what she was doing in the dress—or the white two-piece swimsuit underneath, or the matching sandals…and she certainly didn't know what she was doing wading in the water at a small island—no, an _atoll_, and she was standing in the shallows of a lagoon.

It was in the dead of night, and aside from the stars and the moon, most of what she could see was illuminated by either the moonlight or the burning of a ship. What was left of the latter looked like a personal yacht that had presumably capsized, and been damaged so deeply that the engines were ruptured. Well, that was what it looked like to _her_. Diane was many things—but she would've been the first to admit that an engineer was _not_ one of them. The one time she'd tried to be, she'd ended up stuck in the _floor_….

She looked around, as she continued to wade. _Is this a dream?_

Well, it _felt_ real—it looked, and sounded, and smelled real. _But…isn't that how dreams tend to be? They seem so vivid and tangible, until you wake up_….

She froze at the sight of a man—reclining back in the sand, head on his hands. Diane came closer, close to stepping out of the water and onto the beach. The man's eyes were closed, whether asleep or not she couldn't tell.

Diane swallowed, and her heart skipped a beat as she recognized his face, his hair, his body. "Sam?"

_Oh, my— _Sam Malone's eyes snapped open. He knew that voice all too well, and his heart skipped a beat.

_No—no, she can't be here. It's impossible! I mean—_

He sat up—and he froze. There she was, stepping out of the water before him. She was dressed in a loose-fitting, but still form-fitting, white-and-yellow knee-length dress that was designed kind of like a robe, and may or may not have been see-through—and her hair and dress were both blowing lightly in the wind as she came to him, eyes wide in what looked like shock and astonishment.

Sam shot to his feet—and for a moment he was at a loss for words. "What…oh, great, I'm losing it, aren't I?"

Diane rushed to him—elated at his voice. "Sam, is that you?!" _Oh, such a question—of _course_ it's him! Oh, Sam!_

Sam rubbed his forehead, looking off. "I _am_ losing it!" he said.

Diane stopped short at his words, a few feet away. _What—?_

But she saw in his face the complete and utter bewilderment her own mind was feeling, at this moment.

"Sam," she asked, "What are you—what are _we_ doing here?"

_Oh, sure—this is my dream, sure, and she's asking _me_! _Sam whirled to her, throwing out his arms in exasperation. "Oh, _we_, huh? Well, I know what _I'm_ doing here—my boat got caught in a _hurricane_, or at least it felt like one—and I crashed and capsized, and here I am, my ship blowing up right in front of me, and just when I'm getting ready to accept it all, _you_ pop up like Ursula Andress…" he looked her up and down, "…except in a dress."

Diane shrugged.

Sam stared at her for a moment longer, and said, "So, how are you?"

"Well, I'm quite fine, thank you—except that I don't have any real notion as to how I arrived here."

"Yeah," he sighed, "You and me both, sweetheart…."

"What, that you don't know how _I_ came here, or how you—?"

"_Both_—I don't know! Gah, you can be so _irritating_, you know that?"

Diane shook her head, her blood boiling. "_I_ can be? _I_ can be?! Sam Malone, I'm trying to understand what is happening, and the least _you_ could—"

"_Shut up_!" Sam whirled away, and started pacing the sand, his confusion giving way to complete _frustration_. "Just let me think…."

_Diane—why did _she_ have to just pop up out of nowhere, huh? This isn't a dream—it's a NIGHTMARE!_

Diane scoffed, and followed him. "Oh, _this_ should be quite an historic occasion—Sam Malone deems himself able to figure out a paradox like _this_ while Diane Chambers is left helpless to even _offer_ her admittedly considerable—"

"_Will you cut it out_!?" Sam whirled back to her. "I don't have _time_ for this, Diane. I—!"

He cut himself off, realizing how ridiculous that statement sounded, right now.

Diane looked around her—at the waves, at the island, at the wreckage—and burst out laughing.

Sam let out a sigh. "Yeah, I know," he muttered—and felt a chuckle of his own. "That sounded stupid, didn't it?"

"Well, it—well it—" Diane tried, and couldn't finish, and she let herself laugh, shaking her head. And then, she started feeling tears in her eyes, the laughter was so intense…and then the tears took over, and she started to sob.

The truth was, the joy of all this had unearthed so many feelings…so many memories—and with them, so much shame for leaving them behind. And with this, she felt herself falling down on her rear, sitting on the sand, pressing her eyes against her arms as the tears continued.

Right away, Sam felt a surge of guilt, as all his other feelings washed away. "Oh, no—Diane, come on…" He sat down beside her, and put his arm around her. "Sweetheart…I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Oh, Sam, it's not _that_," Diane managed to say as she snuggled into the crook of his shoulder. "It's just—oh, I don't care if it's a dream or not, you're _here_, with me, and—"

She blinked back her tears, with a sniffle, as she shifted to look at him. "Or…am I here, with you?"

Sam chuckled, and spread out his other hand. "Right now? I don't really care."

Diane nodded, wiping her face dry with the hem of her dress. "Fair enough. After all, I sincerely doubt we'd be able to understand this, if we could."

"Hey, I'm not gonna _try_."

Diane looked around her, at the sand, at the trees, at the water…at the boat. "When did you buy a yacht?"

Sam felt himself stiffen. _Here it comes…_ "Ah, a bit more than five months ago."

Diane turned to him, frowning, confused. "I…didn't know you could afford such a thing."

"Well, I couldn't, so I sold the bar."

Diane stared at him, feeling her eyes widen again. "You…you _what_?"

"Yeah, I'm surprised you didn't hear about it…unless you've been—"

Sam cut himself off, again. She was _here_, now! He didn't have to just—

Diane felt her lip quiver. "Unless…"

"Well, you know—since that call, maybe—I guessing you at least checked up on us, or…didn't you?"

Diane sighed, and shrugged. "I'm not sure—I might have heard of it, I don't know."

"Well, I sold it. I got this crazy idea of sailing around the world. Didn't get much further than here." Sam spread out his free hand again—this time, in presentation of the scenery. "Welcome to the Bermuda Triangle, honey—the Caribbean end, anyway."

Diane felt a chuckle. "I don't suppose you stopped at Bermuda?"

"Well, actually I did. Figured it was only fair—see what I was missing, when you turned me down way back when."

At the memory of her prize for "Miss Boston Barmaid", Diane rolled her eyes, and smiled. "Oh, _Sam_…"

"Hey, don't 'Oh, _Sam_' me, young lady—I swore up and down I'd be a gentleman—I _thought_ that's what you'd have wanted from me."

Diane felt her smile grow as she met his gaze. "Perhaps I didn't believe you for a moment—"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you said, '_Then_ forget it.' Like it was my saying I'd _be _a gentleman that turned you off."

Diane blinked. "You remember my _exact_ words?"

"Well, I kinda _do_ that when something sounds weird, coming from someone."

"Well, then perhaps I was all too _aware_ of your definition of a 'gentleman'."

"What definition? I was going by yours, and you know it!"

"Or perhaps I was presuming to try and teach you a lesson about trying to make me accept your perspective on _sexuality_—it works both ways, you know."

Sam felt a smile—a sly one. "You bet it does. You know what _I_ think?"

"Oh, _this_ should prove interesting…."

Sam grinned. "_I_ think you couldn't stand me accepting _your_ 'perspective'. You were accepting _mine_, and finally looking for some action at the plate—"

"Don't flatter yourself."

"And when I said I'd tone it down, you didn't like it."

Diane threw her head back, mouth open. "That is the _farthest_ thing from the truth!"

"Sure it is, sweetheart. '_Then_ forget it!'"

Diane groaned, looking away as she shook her head. "I don't believe this—I remember going to bed tonight, worried _sick_ that something may have happened to you. I find myself _here_, and I find out that you are, for all intents and purposes, 'okay'. And somehow, I'm _not_ relieved."

"Hey, if it makes you feel better, I lost my _boat_…and while we're at it, the bar."

Diane looked at him. "You said you sold the bar."

"To buy the _boat_!"

"I see." Diane sighed, and gave him a light smile. "Poor Sam—"

"Oh, sure. _You're_ off writing—I'll bet you got a career, by now."

Diane rose to her feet. "Well, if you're going to be _flippant_ about it—"

Sam sighed. "I know—I'm sorry…you didn't deserve that."

Diane let out a sigh of her own, and sat back down. "As though you deserve all my barbs about your being 'dumb'?"

"Well, sometimes I do, other times I know you're joking."

Diane looked off, shaking her head. She sighed again, and said, "You know, Sam…I can't help but wonder if all that was more due to my trying to feel better about myself then some kind of honest banter between us."

"Look, honey, let's not start analyzing again, okay?

"_Sam_…an unexamined life—"

"Yeah, not worth living, I get it. But we're _here_—on the beach. You know, I was actually thinking—other than the boat all smashed up, you'd have loved this. Nice, romantic vacation—maybe a honeymoon, who knows?"

Diane turned to him, and laughed. "Why, Sam! You were set on Disney—"

"I know!—because of what _you_ wanted! If you'd said a cruise to the Caribbean, _maybe_…"

Diane shook her head. "_Sam_…"

"I know, I know—fine, could've, would've, should've. But we're here, let's make the most of it."

"Sam, I'm _trying_ to, if you'll let me."

"Oh, by sitting around and _thinking_ about it? Geez, Diane, you can do that wherever you're gonna be when you're awake—why do we have to do it, here?"

Diane smiled, her eyes sparkling as she took his arm. "Sam…don't you see? We have here—right now—a chance to achieve what we couldn't when I'd left, for the simple reason that _then_, I was in denial about the situation, about…us, and our future. But I'm not _in_ denial, now! And so…we're able to talk!"

"Yeah, and about what?"

"_Closure_, Sam. We can say to one another all the things that need saying—we can now reconcile, _close_ this chapter in our lives, and start anew—by accepting the separate paths our lives have taken—"

"Yeah, I get it," Sam shrugged, with a smile, "Assuming, uh, they don't lead right back, huh?"

Diane froze, as his words became clear to her mind—and her heart. She stared at him, astonished. "Why…why, _Sam_! You…"

The smile as she said it—the glow filling her face…to be honest, it frightened Sam a little, as he realized what he'd just said.

"Oh, never mind," he managed to mutter, "I was trying to be nice. Look, uh, don't take what I said that seriously—"

Diane shut him up—with her lips meeting his in a warm, tender kiss.

With that, it was hopeless, as Sam felt such a surge of emotions as he thought he'd never have again. He felt his arms encircle her waist, as her hands caressed his shoulders and neck. He felt how slender she was, and how delicate—but her inner strength and dignity belied it, made the fragility more of a challenge, an invitation to "take" this woman, if any mortal man _could_—not with hostility, but with passion and tenderness…and to enjoy this conquest as a true triumph. And enjoy it Sam did—and knew that she did, too.

Diane's heart beat ever harder—fueled by the joy and passion this man stirred within. For whatever his faults may have been, _this_ was the Sam Malone in whose arms she was ever so proud to belong—the strength and the confidence of his hold making her feel both safe and restless—restless in her eagerly awaiting the excitement his presence would promise—and always provide. And as she felt the caresses of his hands and the hold of his arms around her, she knew that never in her life was she more aware of her own womanhood—and all the best attributes thereof—then when she was with this man. A "princess"—perhaps…yes, in his arms, she certainly felt like a princess, giving her favor to the man to whom it was entitled—truly and fully, without reservation or reluctance…with everything her heart and her spirit could possibly give.

Then there was only the two of them, for this night—the rest of the universe didn't matter. All that mattered, as they fell into the sand, their passions increasing all the more—all that mattered was that they were _together_, in spirit…which for this mutual dream became: together in body, as well as soul.

Neither of them cared, for that time together, whether it was a dream or not—for now, this moment, it was _right_. And neither of them wanted to break away.


	5. Chapter 5

When their passions finally calmed, Sam sat up, smiling down at the beautiful young woman lying down in the sand…as she smiled back up at him, so breathtakingly aglow and angelic. _Yeah, I said it—well…thought it. She's the closest to an angel I'll ever meet._

He shook his head, smiling as he brushed a hair from her face. "You know you're really something, Diane, you know that?"

Diane chuckled as she sat up, tying her dress closed again with the smart efficiency of those many times he'd seen her tie her apron in the bar, and she replied in a "proper" voice, "Why _yes_, Sam—I should certainly like to think so…."

"Mm-hmm."

"And if I may say it—you're 'really something' yourself."

"Oh, surprised, huh? Has it been that long…?"

Diane laughed. "So, now why don't you say it, huh?"

"Say what?"

Diane put her arms around his neck again. "That you still _love_ me, Sam Malone—_madly_ and completely—and you always will…"

"Diane—"

"—just as I'll always love you—dear _master_ of my heart…for every moment we'll exist—"

"Hey-hey-hey—hold on," Sam nudged her a little, so she broke her hold on him. He sighed, mentally counted to ten, and quietly said, "Sweetheart…we've been over this. I don't _want_ you back—okay? At least, not until you have that chance to follow your dreams—"

"Oh, _Sam_," Diane took his arms, still aglow, and leaned to him so that he caught her breath. "Aren't I allowed _this_ dream, too?"

"Diane, I'm _serious_! I don't want to take that risk—and I don't want _you_ to take it! Now, maybe it's stupid, but I want to _know_ that you're out there, _winning_ your life—"

Diane let him go, her smile fading. "All right, then—_when_ do you want me back? And don't tell me you don't, Sam —because we _both_ know that's a terrible lie."

"I don't know…. Look, just give me your number whenever you move, or something—I don't know. I'll call _you_, invite you back—and then we'll talk."

Diane sighed, and brushed her hair with her fingers. She frowned at the feel of sand grains, and brushed again.

Sam smiled at her. "It looks fine, you know. Um—your hair, I mean."

Diane looked at him, returning the smile. "You think so?"

"Sure—and before you start, don't bother with any makeup, either. You're fine."

She laughed. "Well, it's not as though I brought any _along_, Sam."

"Uh-huh. You know something, Diane?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't know if I've ever said this to you—and heaven knows I dropped it as a line for a _lot_ of women, but…oh, whatever, I'll say it: Diane Chambers, I think you're the most beautiful woman I ever met."

Diane felt her eyes moisten, as her smile grew. But she blinked, as a clever thought occurred to her. She met his gaze, with a glint in her eye. "You _think_?"

Sam scoffed, rubbing his brow. "Oh, come on—I don't know! In _theory_, maybe someone—but all I know is, she'd have to be _insanely_ great in every single _way_ to beat you—and even with that…"

He sighed, and spread out his hands. "Okay—does that work?"

Diane chuckled, shaking her head. "_Sam_, if you don't stop charming me, I'll have no _choice_ but to come back."

"To where? I sold the bar."

"Mm-hmm. And after you're rescued, where will you go? And don't tell me you don't know, and that you're making all this up as you go—we both know you'll be going back there, Sam."

"Oh, you're a mind reader, now. All right—how do _we_ know that?"

"Because sooner or later, you're going to miss Woody, and Frasier, and Norman, and Clifford…and Carla. I _know_, Sam—_I_ miss them, immensely. Yes…" she sighed, "Even Carla."

Sam smiled.

Diane leaned to him. "And you're going to feel it more than I do—you've known most of them far longer than I have. They're our family, Sam—and _Cheers_ is part of that. Sooner or later, we'll both come back. But you, first."

Sam looked off.

Diane shrugged. "Would it help if…if I pay you back by asking you to do something for _me_?"

Sam gave a shrug. "What'll you have?"

Her eyes intensified with her voice, as he said, "Buy it back. I don't care how long it takes, Sam—buy that bar _back_."

Sam turned to her, and smiled. "Only if you promise me to make it big—wherever you're going. _Before_ you come back."

They stared at one another, for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Diane swallowed, and nodded. "All right."

"And I'll say it again, you know—you ever find someone, it's great and I won't stop you. And, um…well, vice-versa."

Diane looked off for a moment, and swallowed. At last, she nodded to him, her voice quiet and threatening to break. "Fair enough—but I'll still come back, Sam. It may be a long while, but I _will_. I promise. Will you at least accept _that_?"

Sam nodded. At least _she_ believed it. He wasn't sure if he did, himself…but come to think of it, he felt less resistant to it than her promise of six months, that last night in _Cheers_. "Okay."

"Okay." Diane extended her hand. Sam took it, and they shook once.

And then they embraced one another, and kissed. Then they stared one another in the eye, preserving the sacredness of this moment.

They both felt it at the same moment…that this time was going to end, in a few moments. If it was a dream, they were both about to awake.

Diane smiled. "Give me a ring, sometime, huh?"

Sam smiled. "I'll make it one for the road."

Diane nodded. "I know."

Another moment of endearing silence, until Sam whispered, "Goodbye, Diane."

His voice sounded to him like it was starting to break.

Diane pursed her lips, and felt her eyes well up in tears. "Goodbye, Sam," she whispered.

And they shared a kiss once more, on the beach…one last time….

* * *

**Note: Epilogue still to come!**


	6. Epilogue

Diane Chambers opened her eyes, to the sight of the cabin around her. She was alone.

She sat up in the bed, rubbing her brow—and rubbing away the tears that had welled up in her eyes. She looked around her.

Dawn was breaking—morning was coming. It was the beginning, at last, of a new day.

_A new day…_ She felt a smile at the thought. A new beginning—a new chapter in the rest of her life…and in the rest of his.

She stared across the room, at the desk—and the typewriter. The page was still there—the screenplay—_her_ screenplay—was waiting for its conclusion.

Diane's smile grew, and she slid off the bed onto her feet, walking over and sitting down. She was rested, now—refreshed, equipped with a purpose. She was going to finish, today—and she was going to go straight to Hollywood, with the plane ticket the studio had provided, along with the money they'd paid in advance.

And this wouldn't be the end. She could feel several new ideas waiting to burst through—from her mind, through her fingers, into the typewriter, onto the printed page at last…to see the light of day. (One idea, amusingly enough, involved a single-mother heroine with a certain resemblance to a certain Italian waitress whom, despite herself, Diane considered a good—albeit vitriolic—friend.) And Diane _knew_ she would succeed—she knew she would win, and "make it big".

_I'll do it for you, Sam. I—I don't know if that really was just a dream, or if, for last night, we truly _did_ connect in our hearts and our souls—if we really spoke to one another…or if it was all my imagination. But I _will_ do this, Sam—for you. And I _will_ keep my promise._

_I _will_ see you again, my love. But as you said…not just yet._

She sat there, at her desk, and ran her fingers through her hair.

She frowned. Somehow, it felt a little _grainy_—her hair. It certainly didn't feel like dandruff, by any means.

She picked out one of the grains, and stared at it on the tip of her finger. It looked and felt like salt…or maybe sand.

Diane Chambers shook her head, leaning back in the chair. _Well, what do you know?_

And she smiled.

* * *

Sam Malone sat in the boat of his rescuers, mulling over what had happened last night. He'd probably dozed off, thinking about how Diane would've liked the place. Still…

_It was like that feeling I got on the plane, when I flew to Europe—the feeling that I wasn't going to be able to stop her wedding. And I _didn't_ stop it—she did._

_It's like that feeling…just even more. Like I have this kind of connection with her. Oh, that's crazy, isn't it? Well…isn't it?_

"Well, I tell ya," said the sailor sitting right by him, "What a story _you've_ got to tell the folks at home, huh?"

Sam smirked, and nodded. "I sure do."

He sure as heck wasn't going to tell anyone about that dream—if it was a dream. But the crashing of the boat was story enough. He'd bounced the "No Brains Atoll" idea off of the sailors. They'd all bust a gut with that one—they loved it.

One of the sailors was playing a radio. Some soul music was playing, it sounded like. Oh, what the heck. Anything to keep him occupied.

"Hey," he smiled at the guy, "Think you can turn it up a bit?"

"Sure thing."

It was soul, all right—and a song was starting up that he knew all too well. The Three Degrees, "When Will I See You Again?"

_Great. Just great. God sure has a dark sense of humor, doesn't he?_

But Sam wasn't going to ask the guy to turn it back down—that would've gotten some looks from them—and then _questions_, and so on.

And so, he listened, eyes closed…his mind elsewhere, in a bar in Boston—on a par of initials….

* * *

_Sam & Diane will return_….

* * *

**Thanks for reading, everyone! You folks are the best.**


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